


And I know what to say, but forgot how to speak

by fulldaysdrive



Series: Limerence [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkwardness, Crushes, Enjolras challenges certain fic conventions, F/F, Fluff, Multi, Trope Subversion, because she doesn't have time for that nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fulldaysdrive/pseuds/fulldaysdrive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire needs a fake girlfriend.  Enjolras is the only person she hasn't asked yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I know what to say, but forgot how to speak

"Okay, here you go."

Grantaire blinks, jerked out of her glum reverie to sit up straight as Bossuet firmly sets a heavy goblet glass down in front of her. She scrutinizes the uneven gradient of the liquid it holds, dubiously taking in how the sickly pale yellow on top gives way far too quickly to an unnaturally bright red. There's a really sad-looking maraschino cherry garnish swallowed in amongst far too many ice cubes, only the stem visible as it pokes out over the rim of the glass. "What even is this?"

"We got you a Shirley Temple," Joly replies as he sets down his own drink and takes his seat next to her.

"In what universe is this a Shirley Temple?"

The Corinthe is not known for its cocktails. Or its mocktails, come to think of it. They do serve them, but the quality beer selection is what first drew their group to the place, not the mixed drinks, and this fact is very obvious. Grantaire takes a sip, and wow, that is _sweet_. Joly's cracking up; her face must be incredible.

"I can get you a ginger ale if it's that bad," says Bossuet, looking slightly guilty.

Grantaire waves her hand in an elaborately dismissive gesture. "Don't worry, it's fine." Joly and Bossuet are the best friends ever and have been buying most of her drinks for her for months. While she's not having quite as much of a struggle now as she did at the beginning of her journey towards sobriety, not having the option to go to the bar herself to order something still helps tremendously. Her endless gratitude and appreciation means she will never refuse anything they get her, even badly made monstrosities that seem to have a cup of grenadine when she's sure the standard recipe calls for, like, a splash.

"Now spill," Joly commands, now that they're all settled back down. "What's wrong? You've been glum all evening. You were even quiet during the meeting."

Grantaire makes a face. "Honestly, I'm just moping. Because I'm a dumbass."

"This dumbassness have anything to do with why Musichetta's been annoyed with you for the last couple days?" Bossuet asks.

"Yeah, I kind of did something stupid and she heard about it." She sighs, feeling somewhat guiltily glad that work made her sister have to miss tonight's meeting-and-drinks. She doesn't need to get yet more grief about the story she's about to relate. "Okay. So you know how our grandparents' big 50th anniversary dinner party thing is this weekend?" They nod; knowing Musichetta, the two of them have been fielding outfit queries all week. Also Bossuet, the boyfriend their family actually knows about, is actually attending. "Mom's been on me for weeks to bring a date. She keeps thinking I'm too embarrassed or ashamed to bring girlfriends home or something, but you know I haven't dated anyone seriously since Flo and that was last year, before—" She lifts her glass, and they nod. "And then on the phone the other day, she was all, 'I worry about you, munchkin, I just want you to be happy.' And just." Grantaire grimaces. "I never know what to _say_ to that. My parents never talked feelings when I was a kid, and even though things are better between us now, I just. I can't deal with it. I wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible. So I sort of panicked?"

"Oh god," says Joly, quick on the uptake as ever. "You told her you _do_ have a girlfriend, didn't you."

"Yeah." The word escapes her in a long, dramatic sigh as she slumps forward on the table.

"You're a dumbass." The dryness in Bossuet's voice is tempered by the sympathetic pat he gives her on the shoulder.

"Yeah."

"A dumbass in need of a date," Bossuet continues. "Have you asked anyone yet?"

Grantaire's moan of misery is stifled into the crook of her arm. "I've asked everyone I _could_ ask. No one can make it. Eponine can't get the day off. Cosette's had plans with Marius for months. Musichetta's—"

"Taken and already going," Bossuet interrupts cheerfully.

"—and also _my sister_ , ew dude." Grantaire makes a face at him. "I was _going_ to say, she's too mad at me to help me out by asking any of _her_ friends." She stares morosely down at her drink. "I've got no options. I'm not about to post a Craigslist ad. I kind of implied that we've been together for awhile, and that means it needs to be someone I at least sort of know, because it'd be obvious pretty quick if I brought a stranger." She sighs. "Basically, I'm fucked, and along with probably my whole family giving me pitying looks all night, Mom's going to go back to worrying about me being alone forever and Dad's just going to be pissed that I lied, and in summary? This is gonna suck so hard."

Laid out like that, it all sounds so embarrassingly stupid and self-pitying. Grantaire winces inwardly. Wallowing in self-pity is old hat for her, but it's actually been a while since she'd wallowed so _much_. She never used to be self-conscious about it. Perhaps she's lost the trick of self-indulgent misery. She supposes that this could be considered a good thing. Character growth, or whatever.

After a moment, Joly haltingly suggests, "Well, _I_ can go, if you—"

"No!" Grantaire lifts her head momentarily to shoot him a glare. "What the hell? That is the _worst_ idea. I would never subject you to a full evening of dysphoria just for the sake of lying to my fucking family. Keep your binder on, man."

Joly smiles, looking both sheepish and relieved. "But you know I would, if you asked."

"Which is why I'd _never ask_. Sheesh. Of all the unbelievable things you could say. And I thought we just established that _I_ was the complete dumbass." This last is said with the utmost affection, accompanied by a fond glance. Grantaire really does love her friends, even when they're being stupid. Sometimes especially when they're being stupid.

Joly laughs a little at that. "It's just that everyone else's going but me, so I kind of wish I could too? I know it's silly, and that you'll only be gone for an evening, but..." He trails off, giving a helpless shrug of one shoulder.

"You won't be missing much," says Grantaire. She sits up straight again, because reassuring speeches are far more effective when the one giving them isn't slouched over. "It'd be the same as any other boring family thing: long speeches, you fielding awkward questions from people you don't know, me fielding awkward questions from people I rarely see, with just the thinnest buffer from my parents between me and any disapproval for the lesbian freelance artist thing. And of course, the first dish taking eons to come out. If anything, feel bad for Boss here." She reaches out and returns Bossuet's earlier shoulder-pat. "It'll be the first time he's meeting anyone except my parents. He's gonna get stared at by everyone from my great-grandma to my littlest cousin, and I'll bet you twenty bucks my oldest aunt is going to grill him about his entire life. And then we're going to give him the cheater chopsticks."

"I do not need the cheater chopsticks," Bossuet protests.

"And after two minutes of watching _that_ hilarity, we'll get him a fork."

Bossuet mutters, "You're a jerk."

"That's news to you?" Grantaire grins as Bossuet rolls his eyes at her. She turns back to Joly. "Anyway, it's only for Saturday. We'll get back and maybe put on a movie or something?"

"Ooh, we can have a sleepover!" Joly smiles. He already looks cheered up by the prospect. "I'll get the blanket fort ready while you're gone."

"Sounds great to me," says Grantaire. She means it. Joly's blanket forts are a marvel of comfort and structural integrity. The dude's got a gift.

"Back to the matter at hand," Bossuet drawls. He's suddenly got an impish smirk on his face, of which Grantaire is immediately suspicious. "Do you know what _I_ can't believe?" His eyes are alight with devilish glee. His bald head is practically gleaming with mischief. Grantaire narrows her eyes. "Out of all the other ladies in our group, you've managed to _not_ ask the only other lesbian."

 _Oh, for—_ It takes all of Grantaire's will not to reflexively look across the room, to where said other lesbian is sitting at a table in the corner. "I didn't 'forget' anything," she mutters. "Enjolras? Are you serious?"

"Well, is there anyone else?" At Grantaire's pursed lips, Bossuet shrugs. "You said you won't ask a stranger, and well, you've known each other for years. She'd fit the bill. And I bet if you manage to get Enjolras to go with you, Musichetta'd forgive you pretty quickly. She might even throw you a party."

This probably is true. Musichetta's been hearing Grantaire talk about her completely hopeless crush for years, and in recent months she's been looking rather fed up with it. To be honest, Joly and Bossuet have also probably had enough, only _they're_ too nice to complain.

Well. This could be their way of expressing it.

"She doesn't know me _that_ well," Grantaire says weakly.

Joly tilts his head. "Well enough to fake it, probably," he says. At her incredulous look, he shrugs. "You can at least _ask_ her."

Grantaire makes a face.

"But that would mean she'd have to _talk to her_ ," Bossuet translates.

Joly snorts, which is about when Grantaire's willpower breaks and she sneaks a look at the corner table.

Enjolras is leaning back in her chair, fingers loosely curled around the handle of a coffee mug, listening intently as Courfeyrac regales her with a story. From the large arm movements, Grantaire figures it's a description of his disastrous date the other night. She'd heard the same story before today's meeting started, and seen the same gestures. After a moment, Enjolras's lovely face breaks out into a grin, and Grantaire can barely keep herself from letting out a little besotted sigh.

"This is a great idea," says Bossuet. "You bring her, and your mom won't even question that you're madly in love."

Grantaire's response is a sour, "Yeah, but then she'll wonder why I can't like, _talk_ directly to her."

She's not exaggerating. Grantaire's inability to actually talk to Enjolras like a normal human being is impressively _dire_. It doesn't matter that they've hung out in the same social circle for years. Grantaire still manages to be star-struck whenever they're in close proximity to each other. Star-struck being an apt term, because it's just like being in the presence of some famous figure normally admired from a distance. Though Grantaire — as all her friends can wearily attest — usually possesses the ability to be extravagantly loquacious, Enjolras simply entering the room can render her utterly dumbstruck. Or, if she's particularly unlucky that day, a blithering fool. It's mortifying. Once, memorably, what was meant to be a simple compliment had ended up being a torrent of fulsome nonsense that had landed so badly that not only did Enjolras stare at her in incredulous confusion, Grantaire had sworn the sun had at that moment retreated behind a cloud in secondhand embarrassment.

"It's been ages since I've let alcohol take away my brain-to-mouth filter, but I swear I can't trust myself around her. Can you imagine? 'Hi Enjolras, would you be my fake girlfriend? You're so well-spoken and lovely and if I bring you home it'll impress the hell out of my family, especially if you wear that little black thing from last year's graduation dinner, and also those stiletto heels that I want you to grind my face into the floor with.'"

Joly's face has contorted in a way that makes him look half-intrigued and half-disturbed. "For one thing, I don't think stilettos can do that, or at least not the heels, and for another, that's a kink that I didn't really need to know you had."

"I don't even know." Grantaire buries her face in her hands. "This stuff just comes out. I can't do it, Joly. Don't make me."

Joly somehow manages to roll his eyes with affection. It's one of his talents. "You're desperate, right?" At Grantaire's miserable nod, he smiles encouragingly. "Well, then...?"

"But she's so... pretty. And judgey."

"Yes, and pretty judgey's never stopped you before." Bossuet's expression is pained. "Remember Irma? And this is _fake_ asking her out. Just — slow down and use simple words. Two syllables or less."

"It's not just that, though," Grantaire continues, pulling at Bossuet's sleeve like the most pathetic of kittens. "I was never tongue-tied around _Irma_. I mean, I knew from the start that we were going to be a disaster, but also that it would be fun." Seriously, that relationship made for two of the most enjoyable weeks of her life. "But Enjolras — I mean, she's got this way of _looking_ at you that is just so—"

"She's got a way of looking at _you_ like you're an absolute weirdo because you don't let yourself think before you speak and then suddenly your foot's lodged in your trachea," Joly retorts.

"The thing I don't get," says Bossuet then, "is how on _earth_ you find her so intimidating. She's like eight inches shorter than you."

Grantaire sighs. It's a familiar line. Enjolras is perhaps the only person in existence with the power to negate her natural obnoxious belligerence. Her friends find it both confusing and hilarious that she can possibly have this effect on someone who literally looms over her. At this point the conversation, complete with teasing banter, is pretty formulaic. Usually, Grantaire is happy to indulge them, because she can acknowledge that her crush has reached completely mockable proportions. She's never found it difficult to laugh at herself. Right now though, faced with the prospect of doing something about it — or fake doing something about it, whatever that even means — she doesn't particularly feel like going through the motions. Especially not with Enjolras right there in the same room.

"She's five foot two of concentrated fierce loveliness, and can you please just stop?" Grantaire says instead, her voice low.

Enjolras possess the supernatural ability to command all the attention in a room, or in a crowd, simply through the sheer force of her passion. This is something anyone who knows her or just watched her for five minutes can confirm. It's usually apparent when she speaks. Otherwise, most people find her very unassuming when she's not leading a meeting or making a speech. Grantaire is not most people. As far as _she_ is concerned, Enjolras's power is always switched on. Whenever they're in the same room, even when Grantaire's attention is elsewhere, even with the distraction of friends and laughter, she is always aware of Enjolras, an ever-present flicker of light in her peripheral vision. A giant bright glowing dot on her pathetic infatuation radar screen.

To be honest, over time she's grown used to the feeling of having a huge unrequited crush. It's even become a kind of comfort to her, a constant though the last few turbulent years. Enjolras is a steady flame, and she's content to bask in the warmth of her blaze.

She's not about to douse it and wreck everything by dragging Enjolras into the preposterous sitcom nonsense she's currently made of her life. The very thought is ludicrous. There is no way she is going to do this. She's just going to have to suck it up and deal with the humiliation this weekend. It's not as if she isn't used to perpetual discomfort when she's around her family.

"'Sup, R? You're looking far too subdued for someone with such a festive looking drink!"

Jolted out of her thoughts, Grantaire looks up to see Courfeyrac pulling out the last chair at their table to sit across from her. "Hey, Courf. It's supposed to be a Shirley Temple. Wanna try?" She passes him her glass.

He eyes it doubtfully, but puts the straw in his mouth and takes a cautious sip. He promptly makes a face, quickly sliding the drink back. "Bleh. Okay yeah, that'd subdue anyone with taste buds. Although to be fair, I noticed you've been a bit quiet in general today. Fake girlfriend search going badly?"

Grantaire blinks. "How did you—?"

Courfeyrac raises his eyebrows and smirks a little. "Marius says you tried to borrow Cosette for the weekend."

"Oh. Yeah, I did. I mean, I tried."

"He was a little miffed."

She snorts. "I can imagine." Sometimes she thinks Marius needs to loosen up a little.

"I mean," whispers Courfeyrac, leaning forward across the table, "if you'd spent months planning a weekend getaway to Disneyland while managing to get an invitation to Club 33, you'd be a bit testy if someone tried to mess with the very evening you miiiight be planning to propose, if you know what I'm saying?"

"Oh." Grantaire blinks. "Shit." She makes a mental note to get Marius a card.

"Whoa," murmurs Bossuet appreciatively. "How'd he snag the invitation?"

"Dude may or may not have connections with someone with connections," Courfeyrac says breezily, buffing his fingernails on his shirt. Then he grins, winks, and raises a finger to his lips. "Shh, though. It's supposed to be a secret."

"How many people have you already told?" asks Joly, amusement present in every syllable.

"...Not Cosette?"

Grantaire snorts again, while Joly and Bossuet both snicker into their beers.

"So have you asked anyone else?" Courfeyrac asks.

"You came in a bit late on this discussion," replies Grantaire. "We've been over this. I've already asked every feasible lady of our acquaintance. No one's available."

"Not _every_ lady," interjects Bossuet. "There's one more person she could ask, but hasn't yet." This is accompanied by a very meaningful glance at Courfeyrac, because Bossuet is absolutely set on this course and nothing Grantaire can do will take him off it. It makes her want to kick him. So she does. "Ow! Jesus, R."

Being no fool, Courfeyrac catches on instantly. His eyes brighten in a way that immediately makes dread pool in Grantaire's stomach. "You're right. I happen to know for a fact that Enjolras is free Saturday." He grins. "And that if you had already asked her, I'd have heard about it."

Grantaire laughs weakly. "Yeah, it'd be a funny story."

He wrinkles his forehead, tilting his head in bewilderment. It's the kind of look that invites comparisons to confused puppies. "What do you mean? Do you think she'd say no?"

She only gives him a flat stare in response.

After a moment, Courfeyrac's eyes narrow and his expression goes slightly calculating for a second before it clears. Then he shrugs carelessly. "Only one way to find out, I guess," he says, and without pausing he turns in his seat and cups his hands to his mouth. "Hey Enjolras!"

"What— Courf, no—!" Grantaire sputters.

"Enjolras," he calls out again, cheerfully ignoring her, and when Enjolras's head turns in their direction, he continues. "Get over here, Grantaire has a question for you!"

"Oh my god," Grantaire whimpers. All she can do is shrink in her seat, very aware that they've caught the attention of everyone else in the bar. She watches Enjolras making her way across the room, the pool of dread in her stomach becoming a veritable sea.

"Yeah?" Enjolras says when she reaches their table, a slightly irritated look on her face. She folds her arms. "Is there a reason you had to _shout_ at me?"

"Didn't want to give up my seat," Courfeyrac replies. He beams sunnily at her. "It got you over here, didn't it?"

She still looks unimpressed, but lets the point go. Enjolras knows, probably more than most, that there's no point in chastising Courfeyrac for being Courfeyrac. "So what did you want?" Her gaze sweeps the four of them, and Grantaire's breath catches a bit when Enjolras pauses at her. Those dark eyes are just so _stunning_. "Something about a question?"

"Yeah," says Bossuet, "go on, R. Ask her."

This feeling of being utterly trapped is not something Grantaire appreciates. If Courfeyrac had chosen a less showy way to bring Enjolras over — for example, getting up to fetch her, or if she'd actually gotten the courage to walk over to Enjolras's table herself — this conversation could be held with some degree of privacy. Here and now, she's got an audience. Even if she suggests they go outside to talk, they'd call attention to themselves again once they re-entered the bar. Well. Depending on how agonizingly the conversation goes, in that case she could just go home instead of coming back in. It'd be a dick move on her part though, since she's Joly and Bossuet's designated driver, and as the night is still young, they probably want to stay for at least a couple more hours. Although, they could always text her to come back and pick them up.

This line of thought is ridiculous. The longer she sits here fantasizing about how to minimize her own embarrassment in ways that, realistically, would just make things worse, the longer she's taking up Enjolras's time. The other woman is already starting to look a little concerned.

Grantaire wistfully spares a thought to the days when alcohol took away her self-consciousness during highly embarrassing incidents, but immediately recalls that alcohol also was the reason why she got into a lot of those incidents in the first place. Win-lose, emphasis on lose.

With a sigh, Grantaire stands up, because she's not having this conversation sunk down in her seat. God, Enjolras really is tiny compared to her. Grantaire suppresses the urge to bend down a bit. Instead, she places her hand on the table behind her and leans back slightly, aiming for casual. "Hey," she says with a smile, trying to will herself into cheery confidence.

Enjolras arches an eyebrow. "Hi?"

"So we all know I'm an idiot," she starts, laughing a little because this is already astronomical amounts of awkward and she's only just begun. She can hear Joly's soft huff of exasperation, and ignores him. "The latest proof of this is I made my parents think I've got a girlfriend to bring to a family thing on Saturday. Obviously I don't have a girlfriend, and it won't be the end of the world if I _don't_ bring someone with me, but it'd be great if I could avoid proving to my family for the hundredth time that I'm a giant loser. I've asked everyone else and they're all busy, and Courf says you're free, so..." She pauses, then hurriedly adds, "Not that I'm asking you at the last moment after everyone else because I wouldn't want you! I mean, I totally do. I mean, I think it'd be amazing if you could, but I completely understand if you'd rather not!"

Enjolras looks a little stunned in the face of all this. Grantaire kind of wants to shoot herself. Why does she _babble_ like this?

"You're... asking me to come with you as your girlfriend?" Enjolras asks slowly. Her eyes have widened slightly, and her arms are unfolding, one hand dropping to her side and the other reaching up to tuck a lock of fluffy golden hair back behind her ear.

"Fake girlfriend," Grantaire hastens to clarify.

" _Fake_ girlfriend," Enjolras repeats. A line appears between her eyebrows. "You want me to lie to your family about dating you."

"Only for an evening! You'll get a nice dinner out of it?" The babbling, alas, continues. "Do you like Chinese food? Real Chinese food, not that combo plate scooped from trays underneath a heat lamp stuff? And my sister and Bossuet will be there too, so you won't just be suffering me." Grantaire's not sure if the thing her mouth is doing is a smile or a grimace. _Good job, R, you're reaaaally selling it_.

"I love real Chinese food. But — wait." A note of disbelief enters Enjolras's voice. "You think I wouldn't want to spend time with you?"

"I mean, I know it doesn't sound like something you'd do." Grantaire laughs awkwardly again.

Enjolras is frowning more deeply now. Grantaire recognizes this expression as the same look of intense concentration Enjolras usually has on when she's trying to solve a problem. It's a bit unsettling; Grantaire isn't used to being the focus of attention quite like this.

"Well," Enjolras says after a long moment, "you're right. It isn't something I'd do. So... no."

"Oh." Grantaire shuts her mouth.

"Life isn't a sitcom," Enjolras continues, "and the very concept of a pretend date is utterly ridiculous and it sounds like a waste of time. So no, I won't be your fake girlfriend."

Well. Grantaire can die now. That's basically what the word "mortified" means, after all. She blinks rapidly.

Enjolras tilts her head and purses her lips. "I said," she says slowly, with unusual emphasis, "I won't be your _fake_ girlfriend."

The silence stretches out.

At first, Grantaire just stares uncomprehendingly down at Enjolras, whose expression seems to be, remarkably, lightening. There's a gleam in her eye and the corner of her mouth is ever-so-slightly curled up into the barest hint of a smile. Very faintly in the background, Courfeyrac is making — and failing to stifle — high pitched snorty laughing noises.

And then abruptly, the penny drops. As does Grantaire's jaw.

"You mean, you want to go with me as... my real girlfriend?" she finds herself asking a moment later, once she's regained control of her jaw muscles and her vocal cords. "You want it to be a, a real date?"

Enjolras grins, and it's like the sun coming up. "Yes Grantaire, I'd love to go on a real date with you. That sounds lovely."

Grantaire's eyes feel huge in her face. She just barely resists the urge to pinch herself. She's glad she's got a hand on the table, because her legs suddenly feel like they alone aren't enough to keep her upright.

A few seconds pass.

"So, Saturday?" says Enjolras, her eyebrows raised.

"Y-yeah," Grantaire stammers.

"And you said it's a nice dinner, so should I dress up?"

"Uh-huh." In the back of her mind, she is sarcastically congratulating herself for finally managing to follow Bossuet's advice. _He meant words of two syllables or less, not sentences._

"R likes the black dress you wore last year at graduation," Joly chimes in helpfully. "The strappy one?"

"Do you?" Enjolras looks delighted. "Noted. When do you need me to be ready?"

"We'll pick you up at five," says Bossuet.

"Sounds good." Enjolras pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket to actually make a note of it. She makes a face. "Ugh, nine-thirty already? I should get going, I have to be up early tomorrow." She glances at Courfeyrac. "You still giving me a lift?" He gives a little sigh, but nods. As Courfeyrac gets up out of his chair and somehow manages to fish his keys out of the pocket of his very form-fitting jeans, Enjolras turns back to Grantaire. "I'll see you Saturday."

"Yeah," Grantaire gets out. Her hand on the table is still the only thing keeping her standing. Enjolras smiles at her, looking pleased and, to Grantaire's utter bewilderment, a little shy. It's a shockingly un-Enjolraslike expression, and it is completely endearing. She finds herself beaming back. "Yeah, see you then!"

After Courfeyrac and Enjolras have said their goodbyes to everyone else and exited the bar, Grantaire practically collapses back into her chair, completely stunned. She exchanges a round of wide-eyed looks with Joly and Bossuet, who both seem fit to burst with glee.

"That just happened," she muttered. "That actually — just happened, right?"

"It really did," says Bossuet. He sounds supremely smug. "You, my friend, have a date. An actual date. An actual — well, potential girlfriend."

Grantaire makes a choked noise.

"Enjolras was one step away from asking herself out _for_ you," continues Bossuet admiringly. "That was one of the smoothest things I've ever seen."

"Oh my _god_ ," says Joly in awed tones. "That really was. She snatched you a victory straight from the crushing jaws of the most awkward defeat ever. That was _incredible_."

At the reminder, Grantaire moans a little in belated horror. "I can't believe I said half the shit I did. I _told_ you guys I can't control my stupid mouth around her!"

Joly puts an arm around her shoulders. "It's okay," he says reassuringly. "To be honest, she looked kind of charmed."

Grantaire makes a face. " _How_."

"Well," says Bossuet, "You did tell her that you liked her, somewhere in there."

"Actually," Joly interjects, "what you _actually_ said was that you 'totally' wanted her."

"I did?" Her heart stops. "Oh my god, I _did_."

"I think it's okay. She seems to want you back."

"Oh my god." Maybe one day Grantaire's command of the English language will reassert itself, and she'll be able to form real sentences again.

Bossuet stands up and claps her on the back. "I think this calls for another drink! I'll get you an Arnold Palmer this time, it's hard to screw up iced tea and lemonade. Joly, you want another beer?"

As Joly cheerfully replies in the affirmative, Grantaire's phone buzzes in her pocket. She takes it out to see a few texts from Courfeyrac, timestamped a few minutes ago. He must've sent them from the parking lot.

_  
congrats on ur not-fake date! knew u could do it!!!!!!_

_btw remember when B passed the bar and we all went out to fancy dinner? u wore that red wrap dress with the vneck_

_just sayin thatd be a super good choice for saturday ;) ;) ;)_

  
Grantaire finds herself laughing helplessly.

  
***

  
The sounds of the front door being unlocked and opened, followed by voices in the hall, rouse Joly from his half-slumber. He pulls up a flap of coverlet and ducks his head out of the entrance of the fort. "Hey guys," he calls out into the hallway. He gets a jumbled greeting back as Bossuet, Musichetta, and Grantaire divest themselves of coats and shoes before making their way towards the lounge.

"Oh, sweetie, this is fantastic!" Musichetta's the first to make it to the doorway of the lounge, and she grins as she takes everything in. Joly basks in her delight, giving her an enthusiastic welcome-home kiss.

The entire room has been transformed. Every spare throw and bedsheet and comforter in the apartment has been gathered up and draped over strategically placed bits of furniture. The mamasan cushion and the giant beanbag are thrown together in the center of it all, augmented by throw pillows and sleeping bags to make a giant plush nest in the middle of the room. The walls of the fort are festooned with strings of colored paper lanterns. Bossuet's lava lamp is in one corner, and Grantaire's old plasma globe in another. The whole thing is comfy colorful heaven.

Joly's reputation is not unearned. He goes all out when he makes a blanket fort.

He beams at their various noises of appreciation. "Go get into your PJs," he urges them, "and then tell me how it went!"

A few minutes later, they're all lounging in the pillow nest and cradling cups of tea and hot chocolate. Bossuet and Musichetta give a delightful recounting of the night's events, with Grantaire occasionally contributing an additional detail or a snarky remark.

"—and then Mom _cried_ , she was so happy," Musi's saying. She gives her sister a sidelong glance. "She's already starting to plan your wedding."

"Meanwhile, Dad likes that she's a lawyer, because it means he 'doesn't have to worry about me anymore.'" Joly is in awe of Grantaire's ability to make finger quotes sarcastic.

" _Everyone_ liked Enjolras," says Bossuet. "R almost got more congratulations for dating her than her grandparents for their anniversary. It was hilarious."

"And after dessert, when Don and Ab — you know, our frat bro cousins — actually tried to hit on her, like right in front of us too, it was awful — she shut them down so hard. It was vicious and amazing." Musi grins.

"Probably the most amazing thing that happened, though," says Bossuet, a smirk audible in his voice, "is that R spent so much of the night _quiet_."

Joly gives a mock-gasp of shock. "Say whaaat?"

"Yeah." Musichetta giggles so much that her shoulders quiver. "Turns out she goes almost completely mute whenever Enjolras touches her."

"She held my hand most of the night," Grantaire admits quietly. She looks a little amazed as she says it, like she can't quite believe that it happened, and Joly's heart just about melts.

He nudges Grantaire's elbow. "So, all in all, would you say it was a good first date?"

She nods. "Enjolras said she had a good time. We're getting lunch tomorrow," she adds. The corner of her mouth quirks up.

"Ahh, so that's why you took so long walking her to her door," says Bossuet. "You were making plans! Musi and I thought you almost went in for 'coffee' or something." He waggles his eyebrows.

Grantaire makes a slightly embarrassed noise in the back of her throat. "Nah, we just talked a little. Tomorrow we'll talk more, I guess. She says she wants to get to know me better." There's that note of awe in her voice again. Joly doesn't think he'll tire of the novelty that is a completely happy Grantaire.

"Always a good sign," says Musichetta blandly. Then she lightly bops Grantaire's shoulder. "I'm glad things worked out."

"Me too."

"I'm proud of you, you know. For finally going for it."

"I guess." Grantaire ducks her head.

"We all are," Joly adds, and Bossuet nods in agreement.

Grantaire makes another embarrassed noise, and buries her face in a throw pillow.

"Remind me to send Courfeyrac a gift basket," Musi adds as an afterthought.

"Can we — can we just put on a movie already?" Grantaire asks plaintively, her voice muffled.

Joly grins, and reaches for the remote.

**Author's Note:**

> The title's taken from the They Might Be Giants song "Contrecoup".
> 
> This fic happened because I've read approximately a zillion fake dating fics, and while I am totally weak to the trope and love it to bits, I wanted to subvert it for once. I just want my babies to be _happy_ without having to suffer quite so much for it, darnit.
> 
> Endless gratitude to the [very](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AtypicalOwl) [lovely](http://archiveofourown.org/users/themerrygentleman) [denizens](http://archiveofourown.org/users/snuggalong) of Whychat, and also to [dracoxlovesxharry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoxlovesxharry) and [Amaronith](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaronith) for letting me constantly barrage you with background details regarding this AU. You never tell me to shut up and I love you for it. ♥


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